


I Long For You

by zouistoner



Category: American Horror Story: Hotel
Genre: F/M, american horror story - Freeform, did i even spell that right, i don't normally write straight pairings, james march - Freeform, the countess - Freeform, valentino?, why am i posting this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 10:05:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5244275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zouistoner/pseuds/zouistoner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She found that even though they shared so much, even though he was rich, and beautiful, and filled to the brim with darkness, she could never love him."</p>
<p>Basically a short rewrite of some Countess/Mr. March stuff from last night's episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Long For You

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not sure why i wrote this, but i figured why not? anyway, the quotes aren't right, i wasn't watching the episode while doing this, just basing it off of my memory. somehow, i actually ended up thinking they were kind of cute?? and i hate the countess. but yeah. 
> 
> also i don't have a beta for anything i write so if anyone wants to offer themselves up that'd be sick. i need more people to critique my stuff, and i'll critique right back.

Back in the days prior to their marriage, his doe eyes were what attracted all of Elizabeth’s friends. They would speak of him adoringly, admiring his brown eyes and long lashes, commenting on how innocent they made him look.

They were dead wrong.

Elizabeth discovered this quickly enough. They married fast, not from love but lust, and the darkness trapped inside him presented itself in their fucking. She was never one for slow, loving sex, but the way her and James fucked was completely different from anything else. He was never gentle - he threw her down and penetrated her, gripped her throat with his rough hands and choked her, groaning the entire time.

Of course, she always found a way to flip him over and choke him right back.

And oh, did he love it. He thrust up in her, dark eyes shut, mouth open, gasping for breath. But when it was done he always smiled. He would lay back, completely exhausted, panting like he ran a marathon, but that same smirk would be stretched across his face, imprinting dimples in his cheeks. And he would always groan those same words, “Now you, my dear, are something else.”

She thrived on it.

As time went on, she discovered more and more about her husband. His sick thrill for killing was something she found out about quite early, walking right in on him hovering over the mutilated body of a man, tugging at his cock. She uncovered something about herself that day as well, when she urged to touch her own genitals at the sight of her husband getting off with such a gruesome muse.

He noticed her watching and quickly jolted up. He clearly didn’t realize her enjoyment at the sight, as he practically quivered at being caught. “Who is he?” She asked monotonously. 

“Just a hobo,” he justified. His face was covered in blood, his hair unruly like it never was, curled on his forehead. She was so used to the vision of him clean and tidy, slicked back hair with a formal suit, but he was his most gorgeous like this, with wide, crazy eyes, and shaking, bloody hands. “You disapprove?” He inquired.

Elizabeth stepped forward. “Yes, I do.”

He frowned then. Not like a man whose wife didn’t like his murderous habits, but like a child whose mother told him no. It was a pout, and his itchy fingers played with the ring on his finger, the very one signifying their marriage, as he gazed at her unhappily. She continued to move closer. “Why waste your efforts on some beggar from the streets?” She traced one small hand on his red stained chest. “Why not kill someone with money, someone who can give us something to gain?” 

His pupils were blown wide. She could hardly ever tell where his pupil ended and his iris began, but up close, his eyes appeared especially vulnerable and especially brown. The pupils stuck out like a sore thumb. She brought her mouth up to his ear, close enough to whisper, “And next time,” his strong arms wrapped around her, like the first time they properly met, when she urged to fling herself from the building, “I want to watch.” 

Thus began a series of bonding times between the two. James would brutally kill his victims in front of her, grinning the entire time, abiding to whatever she wanted him to do. And she would simply sit back and watch, sometimes touching herself, other times remaining as still as she could, or laughing. Afterwards, they always fucked. He would still be high off murder, giddy, and happy to succumb to her will entirely. 

She found that even though they shared so much, even though he was rich, and beautiful, and filled to the brim with darkness, she could never love him. She tried. But she couldn’t force that feeling, the one she once experienced with Valentino. James loved her, and she appreciated their time together, but, in the end, she felt nothing for him. He was a way to pass time and make her aching heart forget what she had lost, that one chance of true love that she allowed somehow to slip by her fingers. 

The relationship between them was fun while it lasted, but she always found herself returning to that love. When Valentino found her again, and offered himself up to her, she couldn’t resist. She didn’t try to resist. The image of her husband, sweaty and bloody, left her mind completely, and was replaced with joyous pictures of the future, of being forever with her two loves. In the final seconds of her humanity, the last person on her mind was James Patrick March. 

Still, she should have known he would find a way to exact his revenge. He always did.


End file.
